Through the Eyes of the Hybridized: Book 1 - Tainted Bloodlines
by RoseOfTheNight4444
Summary: Meet two very different raised Orcs; Maggnak and Shara. They have two separate fates that intertwine and become one. One is a werewolf and the other is a vampire. Read and follow if you enjoy hybrids in the Elder Scrolls! Leave a review if you liked it and if you can, too!
1. Alive and Strong

**This chapter introduces Maggnak! Enjoy!**

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_Location: Orisinium, High Rock_

_Stronghold of Luzsharzol_

_Date: 4E 110, Turdas, 26th of Sun's Dawn_

_Time: 5:00 AM - Sunrise_

"You are weak, Maggnak! You are the son of a Chief and you cannot even best me!" A mid-aged Chief Brokkus Galmog said to his son; he had punishingly struck his boy's cheek minutes earlier, and he was now writhing in agony over a simple left-hand hook. Any Orc would have come back standing on their feet, unmoved and awaiting further blows. Maggnak, here, was different. Twenty years ago, the stronghold's denizens were appalled and disgusted by this uncharacteristic racial display of weakness at Maggnak's young age. Any stronghold could and should either kill said weakling on the spot or at least spare him the trouble of dying a pathetic death due to making it easy and simply exile him. However, Brokkus had insisted to all of Luzsharzol that his five year old son, when the first display of weakness showed itself, would break out of this "curse" of weakness in time. Twenty years Brokkus spent torturing himself and his stronghold, he could have saved himself and the others all the anguish by not favoring his firstborn and listened to reason.

The Chief looked at his cowering and quivering son, faced with a tough decision: He would either have to kill or banish his son. A sacrifice to Malacath for pardoning such poor offspring or a second chance to live and prove this to be a mistake. Either choice would break Brokkus' heart, he cherished Maggnak and truly believed that he might surpass his younger and stronger brothers – whose influence was maddening to him, all they wanted was to kill each other for the title of Chief rather than more important things, as they had not matured fully to challenge Brokkus and they would prefer to Maggnak on the ground, lifeless. They held no honor whatsoever. Such greed is NOT tolerated. Brokkus sighed heavily and said,

"I'm giving you one more chance, Maggnak. You have three days to prove to me you are not weak. You will train outside of the Stronghold. Go as far out as you wish but you must be back here when the moon is high in the heavens. If you cannot back by then, you will have forfeit your second chance. If you manage to return and have not grown any stronger, I will have to slay you where you stand. And believe me, son, I do not wish to do so." Brokkus looked in the eyes of his firstborn, whose fear struck him deeper than any blade, nearly bringing him to tears. Orcs aren't known for showing emotion but they are as emotional as the next person. He breathe deeply and sighed, looking at the three younger Orcs standing idly by, watching this go on. The three were chortling to themselves, placing bets, no doubt, on how much blood it would take for Maggnak to succumb to death. Brokkus broke their attention by saying, "Shukul, Bazuak, and Uzuug, if your eldest brother is unfit to surpass me, you three, then, will have your chance to spar among yourselves. For now, all three of you will also have to train during that time your brother is away – this proposition does not necessarily have to be strictly for Maggnak." Brokkus said narrowing his eyebrows. The three understood this; if they are out of practice and weak, none of them would even live to see the possibility of being Chief. At least being equal of strength meant they all would have functioning eyes to see the results of their eldest brother lying dead. "Go, my son," Brokkus motioned to Maggnak. "Leave Luzsharzol, you have three days. Show me you're worth it."

Passing the Outpost at the entrance of Luzsharzol, Ghommok, watched Maggnak exit the Stronghold and disappear into the forest ahead. Ghommok was one of two Lookouts of the Outpost, alongside his closest friend Gulob, brother of the Chief. Gulob had the privilege of sitting on the chair that was nestled in the corner by the railing every other day. Ghommok had to stand watch at the railing, overseeing any travelers that could be a threat to the stronghold; after all, the Orcs shared this land with Bretons. Days like today were fortunate for them; Ghommok didn't have to inform of his sitting superior of a passerby and await orders on whether or not to inform the Chief of a visitor or to all-out attack against Luzsharzol. On the flip side, instead, they had to stand guard for three days in case the son of the Chief comes back early; in which case, depending on how you look at it, early could mean bad for Maggnak or good if he built up strength in that short of time. Either way, both Lookouts weren't looking forward to spending time out away from their warm Longhouse, even if the Orcs were hardier than the Nords and could stand the cold nights, three days without any real training didn't sound too pleasing. Ghommok scoffed, mostly out of the thought of spending three days at the Outpost doing nothing worthwhile, but also at the sight of the repulsive whelp struggle through the foliage some yards away from the Stronghold. Ghommok shifted his weight on the other foot as he continued to lean on one of the four of the tallest beams supporting the Outpost.

"There goes the whelp." Ghommok stated.

"Think he'll return, Ghommok?" Gulob asked his friend with a glint of challenge in his eyes.

"I'll be surprised if he survives out there at all." He replied.

"I think he'll show up; but any strength that has yet to be seen being gained while he's out there? I can't say. He could get lucky and finally rival his brothers. Or he'll come back looking like something a Saber Cat dragged in." Golub said.

"His profession is huntsman, Golub, if anything, he'll manage to down a few Elks and if he can catch a meal at all by himself, he could ward off a few predators but not for long. He won't last a day; day and a half out there, at the most."

Golub stood up, went over to the barrel on Ghommok's left set his battleaxe onto the top of it. "I'll bet you three swings of my axe that he'll show up - injured!"

"Alright. I'll bet one blow of my Warhammer that Brokkus will ask us to find his body when his sons are fighting for the title Chief!"

The two shook hands and went back to their posts.

Maggnak had never ran so fast in his life; the burst of agility was like that of a Peregrine Falcon – passing by every tree trunk in his way without skipping a beat. The trees whizzed past him faster than he could make out, his adrenaline was on high – and it wasn't Bezerker rage, either. It was the realization that this was do or die. Maggnak was not running away from the only thing he knew in his life to escape cruelty; though he wanted to, thought he should, but would not – no, he was running into the unknown to better himself. Nothing does the Orsimer bones good more than hunting, if not sparring. He left only with a bow with a nearly empty quiver and a couple of axes. To earn strength and survive, hunting was perfect. Though he knew the others thought he could only manage lesser game due to them constantly helping him most of the time to take down bigger game, he knew that fighting bears and saber cats and trolls and possibly an ogre could provide him with challenges in all aspects; physically, the most important of all, to pass this test of strength. Mentally, to push past the fear; after all, if he has slain many of the fearsome wildlife in his spare time, he could crush his brothers and his father with just his fingers alone. Perhaps this thought was overly-zealous but if it would prove his worth, no matter. And lastly, hunting would sharpen him spiritually, as somewhere deep down, he was a hunter and other than standard Orc traditions, he much preferred being the huntsman; even to glorify Malacath.

The lone young Maggnak had been running for hours across the plains of Orsinium, building up tension in his muscles and quickening his hunger with the intense exercise – hunting on an empty stomach and pushing beyond one's limitations is more beneficial than losing your prey to a chase. He'd been weeding in and out of the countless trees for so long, he'd almost forgotten what he was doing. Hunting was second nature to him by now. He blinked several times, he had spent so much thinking about everything that he nearly missed the trail of dead Spriggans that were protecting the area, all of which died by his hand. Shockingly, he'd never laid eyes on a Spriggan before yet during the daydreaming episode, he slew them mindlessly. There seemed to be minimal damage upon his person, nothing but minor scratches. Had he maneuvered through their attacks during the mental blackout, also? Contemplating on the skill he hadn't known was there, he stood by a large boulder and inhaled the breeze coming in from the west. Blood and fresh meat. Westward was where his feet ought to tread.

It was almost noon in the forest and now fixed in his low, quiet crouching posture, Maggnak was determined to catch something, anything, worth eating. The problem is, the animals worth skinning, eating, and cooking are the most active during this time of the day – this sounds like the perfect time to hunt but in fact all game are on high alert, always on the move. Even the predators have competition with feeding themselves when the sun is over the sky. This means more predators to fend off either to fight or to hunt. Maggnak was so famished he could eat an entire Sabre Cat – hell, he'd go for some cooked Frostbite spider right now!

Stooping and leisurely skulking through a denser part of the forest, Maggnak allowed the trees to cloak him from whatever may be available to hunt on this day. Reaching an edge of the forest was a road. Still crouching, the young Orc debated on whether he ought to take it and find a different route to hunt on. He hadn't been too far from home before so the irritating thought of him losing himself in the wilderness not only frightened him but angered him as well. He was sick of being weak. He stood up, pressing on, not looking back and following the path to where ever it led. He was sure that if he was to come back to the Stronghold, he'd find his way back before sunset in a few days.

Maggnak hardly admired his surroundings of the forest, as his growling stomach rivaled that of a growling wolf, and the Orc focused primarily on feeding himself. Along the way, a Breton thief stopped him from continuing, armed with a sword.

"Give me all your valuables or I'll gut you like a fish!" The thief warned Maggnak. His Orcish blood boiled within his veins. He was not about to take rudeness from an outsider, let alone a Breton!

"Out of my way, I'm not here to be threatened and robbed, I'm out here to hunt. Leave me be." Maggnak's warning went south as soon as he tried to take a step forward.

"I don't care, give me something good and I'll consider killing you quickly! This is your last warning!" The masked marauder told Maggnak.

"Not much of a last warning if you're just going to kill me anyway." Maggnak replied.

"A wise-guy, huh? Let's see how much you laugh after I spill your blood!" The thief immediately went for the kill but Maggnak blocked his sword with his arms. Even with as much hunting as he did, he didn't gather enough experience to gain a rather thick hide to sustain himself from ordinary attacks. He bled easily and it flowed fast. "Ha! You bleed just fine! Some Orc you are!" Taunted the thief as he went for another attack – this time, Maggnak caught the axe's blade, letting himself bleed from his palm to his arm.

"What did you say?" The Orc asked calmly to his opponent, fighting the force of the blade and its owner.

"You're…no…Orc." The thief said angrily in a low voice. Flashbacks of Maggnak's father's famous words, "You're not an Orc, you're a whelp!" triggered something buried in his mind – the Berzerker Rage. All Maggnak could see was red; adrenaline circled his body like a wheel spinning thousands upon thousands of times. With the war axes he snagged before leaving home, he furiously swung at the thief, causing him to bleed some; the thief had little room to evade the rampaging Orc. "I yield, I yield!" The fool cried out in terror. The more redness Maggnak saw and the more he smelled of it, the thirstier for blood he becam. He roared a mighty Orcish roar, bare-handedly snapped the thief's neck, and looked upon the corpse, proud of this small endeavor he made. Having pushed himself to do what he never had before, for the first time in his life, Maggnak felt strong. He felt like a true Orc. He felt alive.

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**So, readers…what do you think will happen? Will he starve to death? Or will luck find favor in him? Or somewhere in between? Find out in chapter 2!**


	2. Desperately In Need

**Apologies for the second short chapter! Currently working on the third, could be done within a week. This chapter features Shara. Enjoy!**

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_Location: Orisinium, High Rock_

_Stronghold of Sahgorim_

_Date: 4E 110, Turdas, 26th of Sun's Dawn_

_Time: 5:50 AM_

"How pleased the Stronghold will be to know that I have made a fortune in their name!" Reveled Shara Gra-Dulak, daughter of Makolak Dulak, on her way to her former Stronghold, finished of all the quests that she had as an adventurer. Shara brought home many Septims to share with her Stronghold. Before she ventured off into the unknown, Sahgorim was hanging in the balance. Shara decided that making a pretty penny would make up for all the lack of resources of their small, poverty-stricken Stronghold.

It was a glorious day of celebration for Shara; she slew many a bandit to earn such a hefty coin purse. Even the weather, in it's springtime atmosphere, reveled in feats only heard of and tales never survived to speak of. The wind tickled the face of the female Orc with such a warmness that Shara knew would be liken to those of the stronghold upon seeing her after months of absence.

After treading onward for what had seemed like months but was in actuality days, there it was, Sahgorim! Opening the gate, Shara awaited eager bloodkin to come running to greet her. Instead, the adventure-exhausted Orsimer was met with absolute silence; silence unfitting to a hard-working Orc stronghold such as this.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" She called out to the abandoned structures, hoping a face or two might emerge. "Hmm. Perhaps they all lost track of time and are amusing themselves inside the Longhouse." Shara reasoned with herself. Entering the Longhouse, the firepit was left to burn and the pot over it left to cook. Smothering the fire and cooling the pot, Shara said, "How odd. Someone has indeed been dwelling in here recently but not a soul is within the encampment."

Deciding to investigate, Shara turned around to open the door back out to the Stronghold and make her way to the mine – why every Orc would be in there, she hadn't the foggiest idea but it was the only remaining place her eyes hadn't observed. Her hand barely touch the knob of the door when a chill ran up her neck; there was an intruder that somehow escaped her attention. A blink of an eye later, she swiped the Orcish dagger from its holster on her hip and the blade was then placed firmly on the neck of said intruder.

"Who are you? How dare you trespass on Stronghold grounds, I-" Pausing a moment to take in the face before her, Shara sighed with relief, recognizing the individual now. The familiar one then place their hand on her shoulder. "Galom! You startled me! Not easy to do, even being of the same kind!" Shara jokingly pointed out, easing with a sigh, relieved that she had restraint; for if she had none, her beloved-to-be would be dead. The two shared a tender hug; something Shara had missed in the time she was gone, even through all the intense and exciting action of adventuring through Orisinium.

"Apologies. Have you returned to come home finally after what has seemed like an eternity?" The male orc asked, looking deeply into his long-missed lover's eyes. Galom caressed his 'lovely warrior' with a tender touch, pulling her to him, expressing his anxiety-turned-joy to see Shara.

"Yes, I've finished my adventures and gathered all the available loot! I have brought enough coin to last us months!" Shara went to eagerly reach for her pouch when Galom gently reached for her wrist.

"But Shara, darling, you know the Orsimer have no need for money." Galom gently said.

"Yes, we operate by very different rules, I'm aware of that. But Galom, my love, you are to be Chief one day! You know how in desperate need of supplies and resources our stronghold is! You of all people know that is why I left Sahgorim."

"Indeed, I do. But my father has grown restless, grown tired of waiting for what he called 'trivial' matters. I had to talk him out of cutting you off from our people! You know he has little patience; he cannot sit and do nothing for too long before his need for action gnaws at him. My father only lasted a few weeks when he and the others all left here. I told him he should not leave the Stronghold unattended but he insisted, saying that if he, as Chief, does nothing, there won't be anyone left to defend a Stronghold. I feared for the safety of our belongings and earnings but most of all, our home; so I stayed behind in case thieves and bandits were to take such an opportunity as to sneak into our silent Stronghold and do their worst." Galom explained.

"You always did volunteer for the most dangerous of jobs."

"Very true." He laughed.

"What did your father end up doing after those few weeks passed by?"

"He and a few others would leave to go find a Breton or two to loot off of. Unfortunately, not many Bretons they looted had good supplies to help us. Trading was not preferred but if he found something worthless to us, like a soul gem or powerful staff, he'd get a nice trade of whatever supplies we needed from other Strongholds that need the items we did not. This lasted for some time but my stubborn ox of a father…he was desperate to gain a good amount of food for the Stronghold. It had been days or a week at least that the usual hunting party had brought anything with exceeding nourishment; he was more ravenous than the rest of us. He tried to put a large price for the staff he found. For the buyers wanting the staff, it was worth something but not the amount my father demanded. An argument broke out and then eventually a fist-fight. We were forced to abandon the trading and think of an alternative idea. Scraps had been our daily meal and by this point, father could only see meat." Galom expounded what other information he could for the absentee.

"So, where did they go, love?"

"To hunt, more or less. Father said that he would take every abled body to gather skins, meat, and anything else worth using and hunt for three days without pause. Three days wouldn't have much profit with supplies but doing so without rest would. It has already been nearly a week and none of them have returned home." Galom sighed and sat down on the nearest chair with all his weight dropping like an anvil; sinking from standing position to sitting position with severe stress in his eyes.

"I am as worried about our Family as you." Shara comforted her lover with a circular-motioned upper back rub.

"You know me better than I could imagine." The two shared another kiss but this one was slightly more passionate than the one before. "Come, I think I know where they might have ended up."

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**Readers, what will happen to Shara? Will they find Galom's father? Will he welcome Shara home after his impatience?**


	3. Overcome by Bloodlust - Part 1

**This chapter still needs some work done but I can't let it stagnate on my documents so…bleh :P**

**Location: Orisinium**

**Fields far away from Luzsharzol**

**Date: 4E 110, Turdas, 26th of Sun's Dawn**

**Time: 7:00 AM**

**Section 1 – Satiating the Hunger**

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With the aftereffect of the Orcish Rage, Maggnak became increasingly hungry for a meal, his stomach growing evermore the emptier, with every passing minute. It was time to stop fooling around and hunt. He had reached his maximum height of his will to survive; fatigue, doubt, and an array of other matters plagued his troubled mind. Maggnak almost wished for death. He had his hand on one of his axes, ready to strike at any moment; mainly by force of habit and adrenaline rushing through his body. But there were no wildlife around wherever he walked. Confused and starving, he was determined to figure out why. A large cave bear was retiring into its cave for the day. This cave was located locally by a babbling brook. The ursine clearly came to its abode with a full belly and sleepy eyelids – the answer to the desolation of the area and the perfect target to strike for the ravenous Orc. Though it is likely the bear is capable of killing Maggnak in its sleepy state and doubling those chances with the Orc's malnourishment, Brokkus' son's rage-ridden combat would surely kill the bear, should he strike appropriately and silently.

Sneaking behind the bear, Maggnak was careful to not make a sound as he followed the animal's footsteps into the cave. Minutes ticked by on the biological clock; fifteen minutes at least have been wasted waiting for the stubborn bear to lie down and rest. When the Orc heard what sounded like snoring, crouching even lower to the ground, he leveled both of his axes to the bear's exposed throat. Inhaling deeply, this Orc planned to make good use of this bear's meat, bones, and fur. One single swipe from either axe is all it would take with this weary beast.

Taking this chance, Maggnak slit the throat of the bear in one clean hit. To the Orc's surprise, the bear was still alive. Maggnak's next thought after seeing it open its eyes, was peeling himself off the ground after a massive swing from the bear's paw onto his head. Lacking energy, Maggnak the Feeble, as his brother dubbed him, could barely move a muscle. The bear came over to him, arranging to make a mess of his face. Some strength stirred within Maggnak; allowing him to hold the jaws of the animal away from himself. The Rage lurking inside him once again boiled – this time hotter than any pot of food he'd eaten from. He broke the neck of the animal in one swift motion, and it fell limp next to him, making a loud thud. Despite his victory, Maggnak could easily pass out from not eating for too long. His vision began to fade. He was ready to give up and let his spirit follow his sight where it darkened.

He was enthralled by a light that shone brilliantly before him. He blinked several times to ensure it was no hallucination from hunger. Perhaps it was one, he surely had no idea. What he did know was that the figure engulfed in light eased his suffering, gave him a reason to keep going. He blinked and the figure vanished. "Peculiar, but comforting." Maggnak thought to himself. Debate on what or who said figure dug deep into his conscious; but upon remembering that the cave the bear owned was now vacant; a warm and safe place to rest until the break of day. The clouds lined across the sky invited his well-earned tiredness to turn into the cave and rejuvenate for whatever the remainder of the day brings him.

Maggnak awoke from his rest later on that day and immediately went straight to skinning the bear and salvaging what he could to use for later. Without proper firewood, he could not create a firepit to cook the meat of the bear. Nevertheless, the meat the bear had was not any good – the bear was diseased. Maggnak may be starving but he's not foolish to eat something that could kill him. He sighed, still wanting food. He was pleased, however, that a tanning rack, which he had not seen prior to ambushing it, was conveniently by the cave. He could at least create extra warmth for himself out here in the deserted forest.

Shrugging off the untimeliness of the contaminated ursine, he had hoped the salmon in Whispering Brook just outside the pathway and the cave would not be of the same ill fate. He hadn't brought a net to fish with but a true warrior makes do with that he has. Maggnak used one of the bear's non-diseased bones and carved it into a spear and to add further damage, he put on the tip of the spear the dagger he took from the Breton thief's body. The bone would long enough to use as such a tool and the Orc would not go idly by without it. Kneeling at the river, he waited for a fish to either jump over the rushing water or to be visible close to the surface of the water. He missed a few jumping ones, unsurprisingly, but managed to catch three fish and an unsuspecting Slaughterfish on the surface. Tearing into the meat of his catch, he swallowed the pith with a will to survive; he particularly did not care for fish and how it tasted, but it was food. If he were to hunt for real meat, he could not do so on an empty stomach. Of course, perhaps hunting with a mildly growling belly might persuade him to fight harder but the pain was too much. Satisfied for now, Maggnak preserved what items he needed from the fish, packed everything in his knapsack, and followed the waterfall at the other end of the river ahead of him. Finding some Mudcrab alongside the river to further his appease his hunger and new items to add to his collection, Maggnak found a hidden path among the dense forest whose borders began. There would be decent game above the mouth of the falls and within the forest; where these falls worked alongside gravity and was the end of a narrow stream that led to another falls.

Maggnak gazed up at the number of waterfalls and came to recollection that these not ordinary in nature. They were known as the Pursuit Falls. Aptly named, as they were the perfect hunting grounds for a master hunter; as they carried numerous amounts of prey. The dusty path Maggnak's feet tread on led through the forest and the Falls; where the water falls holds one type of game and down another cascade up a higher level carried larger game to hunt down – the chain continues to the top where prey is just as strong as they are numbered many. Hunters typically call the Falls the Seven Stairs to Paradise; paradise being the ultimate prey awaiting some new challenger to befall certain death. As one can imagine, no foot has ever stepped onto the Seventh Stair; let alone get past the Sixth. Maggnak had heard about this popular myth and had one day thought to seek it. But to seek it by accident was marveling in his mind. That would explain the abundance of fish in the brook. This brook was where the inexperienced hunters would settle the most. The further up the path, the fewer hunters there would be. However, since Maggnak seems to be isolated, no foot of any hunter could have marked the ground here for ages. Inhaling the fresh air that blew from the path that led into the First Stair, the scent of prey lured him into the arms of danger.

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**Section 2 - The First Stair of Pursuit: Luck, Wit, Disease, and Horns.**

Deeper into the forest, above the first waterfall was Crimson Creek. It's waters flowed with blood – prey that had been decaying for who knows how long in its watery grave. It was dusk now.

A few steps into the serene habitat, a lone young rabbit was hopping along by Maggnak. However, due to the sheer will and starvation of Maggnak, the rabbit's days had ended. Raw rabbit leg – just what nature ordered. The Orc progressed into the shady area of the First Stair.

Two foxes, one mature and another an adolescent, came across Maggnak's path. He killed the mature one relatively easy though the younger was a bit of a challenge to chase. For later use, the eager Orc kept the foxes' eyeballs, hearts, and pelts. Never know when these things could come in handy.

Maggnak had now smelled a vile stench that could only be begotten by a swamp; not just any swamp, one filled with waste. A trio of Skeevers fittingly were surrounding the body of muck. Two pups with an adult. Skeevers were tricky for Maggnak to kill, specifically due to them being disease-ridden. With confidence in himself, he swiftly gutted them and took their tails and eyes. Fortunately, only a scratch befell his hardy skin and nothing more came of it.

Up ahead on the path towards the Second stair of Pursuit, away from the grotesque swamp, were three Juvenile Goats accompanied by an older Goat, trotting peacefully to wherever they wish. Goats are easily startled and an Orc's enemy in this case was his heavy armor. Knowing this, Maggnak didn't even attempt a stealthy advance, he only tailed them as soon as he eyed them and they him. As usual, the Juveniles gave Maggnak a difficult time but he hadn't killed them before killing the older one first – doing so would have startled the old goat, causing him run away and thusly, losing sight of prey. Upon examination of his kill, each Juvenile had something good to offer – a small lung for one, a leg to consume for another, and a useful bone for the last youngling. The old goat didn't have anything as its body was beginning to decay due to age. While Maggnak was disappointed with this, he knew that it was still a worthy kill for a worthy hunt.

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**Section 3 – The Second Stair of Pursuit: The Pack of Seclusion and the Meadow**

Now moving forward after about ten minutes of easy hunting into a more gnarly appearing part of the forest, Maggnak approached Savage Stream that flowed randomly across the path. The son of Brokkus took a good look at the width of the waterbed and knew that the wider the bed, the more abundant the prey. This fortune meant good things for Maggnak – should he stay alive.

The first challengers of the Second Stair were five Rogue Wolves, just as cadaverous as Maggnak himself. Normally, one would think a group of wolves like this would still be considered a pack, but the mangy look and the fact that there were four Alphas and an Adult gave the opposite conclusion a real chance to show itself. Maggnak was partially surprised at how quickly the game of Pursuit led into hungry jaws. The Adult in this strange group was injured and obviously was being guarded by the four Alphas. "Must be some sort of canine escort mission," Maggnak thought to himself. The trial went straight from the ease of woodland creatures to the wildness of beasts. This would prove most satisfying. Maggnak would either have to risk killing off the injured wolf whilst being attacked by four wolves at once or attack them first and allow the Adult to run off. Maggnak surmised that he would rather not be attacked at all fronts trying to kill one potential annoyance. Alphas normally bit twice as much and as hard as other wolves and four of them was not making that fact any easier. Maggnak took the weapons that he had earlier forged through what he had and with intense strength, managed to whirlwind his way into the flesh of all four wolves. And, as expected, the remaining adult began to run away. However, Maggnak was as stubborn as his father. He would NOT allow this prey to escape him. With this makeshift bow, he hastily shot the wolf in the shoulder. At first, the canine would have attempted escape with a limp but the internal bleeding and pain made it impossible thus rendering it to collapse. Collecting a fair share of intestines, pelts, meats, eyeballs, and hearts, the Whelp-becoming-Orc was pleased with this event.

Now walking into a more serene and less tree-filled area of the Second Stair, some grass-masticating Deer scattered across the meadow were as agile as they were quick on their feet. Three bothersome Bucks and three Juvenile Deer were all it took to boil Maggnak's blood – that and Elk. These peaceful animals were the main course of his Stronghold and despite being the less likely to attack, they were the most aggravating to chase – at least for this Orc. After painstakingly hunting each and every single equine down with relative ease, Maggnak collected the array of bones, eyeballs, hearts, hides, livers, lungs, antlers, intestines, and venison. This hunt was becoming quite fruitful.

And wouldn't you know it? Elk! Yes, two adult elk, two young elk, and three mature elk were grouped together as one just a few yards ahead. Were it not for the tenacity of Maggnak, two or three of them would have slipped through the edges of his blade. All in all, the loot that became of this were large and small antlers, venison, hide, eyeballs, hearts, 6 Septims, intestines, lungs, a couple of bones, and a skull. Quite the collection! Indeed, Maggnak was infinitely proud of this part of the pursuit. But what would the Third Stair of Pursuit hold?

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**Section 4 – Third Stair of Pursuit: Free Spirits**

Though Hungry Bayou was the solitary water source of the Third Stair, what was so peculiar about it was the fact that around the bayou was a larger meadow than the last. Such an odd piece of nature in a set-up like this. Upon further inspection, Maggnak understood full well why. A herd of wild horses. Maggnak was not fond of the animals nor of the idea of chasing them. And yet, the thrill of the hunt awaited him. With every ounce of his might, he rode bareback of an unwilling wild horse, killing nearly all the other seven horses around him as they all galloped in unison. One had gotten away but losing only one prey out of thirty-six individual prey is not too bad! Especially considering how this number meant more than all the futile efforts within Larzshuzol. Surely, Maggnak's luck would not run out as he continued onward!

* * *

**Section 5 – Fourth Stair to Pursuit: Venom's Kiss**

The waters of Arrowhead River were stained with poison and leaving a dehydrated Orc feeling miserable. Despite this, such a thing could only mean one thing – Chaurus. While not as inherently annoying to chase down as the previous prey, venom into the Orc's bloodstream was bound to occur. Generally, with the herbs that were all around him, this wouldn't be an issue. However, time was not on his side. The day was nearly coming to a close. Even if it were only the first day, he could be cutting it close at the finish of this journey. As anticipated, the copious amount of venom from nine Chaurus were enough to make almost any one worried – if they weren't Orc. Fortunately, with the growing successes on this fine hunt, Maggnak's resolve was strengthening. The Chaurus could not survive blows from a make-shift sword. He applied the herbs needed aftward to keep going, looted all the Chaurus of their eggs and chitin, and moved into the second half of the territory that defined the Fourth Stair.

Along the banks of the river were ten Spiders feasting on blood of the Horkers they've slaughtered. Though Maggnak coveted the tusks and meat of the Horker, Spiders were more promising. Some of these spiders were big and some were small. ALL were angry at the sight of Maggnak and frothing at the mandibles with poison. Fortunately, they were easier to kill than the Chaurus. Maggnak would make good use of the Spider eyeballs and the Venom. Sunset was nigh and the winds were beginning to blow fiercely. Maggnak could feel the hunter within his bones but knew not where it originated from. The delight of hunting grew with each step toward the Fifth Stair and to his ultimate goal.

* * *

**Section 6 – The Fifth Stair of Pursuit: Trolls, Tigers, and Bears; OH MY!**

At the mouth of Treacherous Tributary, it was becoming apparent that the prey up ahead would be as merciless as Maggnak himself. The Orc braced himself for what was to come. Maggnak found himself surrounded by a number of caves and De Ja Vu tapped on his shoulder from before the First Stair – Bears. Eleven bears seemed like much but Maggnak stood his ground. Near the end of it, scars were sprinkled all over his countenance as if they were birthmarks; at least there were plenty of claw ingredients to go around.

Maggnak had more than prey to fight now; he had to fight against his fatigue. What's more, within the tall grass were Saber Cats that decided that he was their prey. And they were a bit stronger than the Bears. Through the blurred vision, Maggnak fought all twelve large felids that were rushing him from all points of the acre. When they were all down and their teeth, among other things, was collected, the young Orc wasn't certain he could go on. He practically crawled towards the Troll Den housing thirteen of the ugly three-eyed monsters. But he couldn't afford to be vulnerable on his back or give up now. No, these fire-fearing creatures would be as if they were fighting twice as many other Trolls! Maggnak may be known as a coward but he wasn't a quitter. After remembering a trick that the Stronghold's wizard taught him, these beasts were quickly burnt up with the Fire Spell. Catching his breath for a while in the aftermath of dodging, attacking, getting hit, and back again, Maggnak then gathered the Troll fat he might need and set foot into the Sixth Stair.

* * *

**Section 7 – The Sixth Stair of Pursuit: Tooth and Claw; Club and Tusk**

Within the forest of massively tall trees, fourteen wolves were idle within their cavern that was nearby Raging Rill. Not only was the fatigue catching up to Maggnak, but so was the weight of his knapsack. He attempted to make no sound as he neared the pack's den. Unluckily for him, the wolves were alert and starving. The wolves tackled him, nearly tearing him to shreds. Maggnak wouldn't go down without a fight! All were slain and all were looted within what seemed like hours of the fight. What a hunt it had been so far for the hopeful Orc!

Raging Rill wasn't at its end yet, though. A tribe of Giants were all that were left to ascend to the last Stair of Pursuit. This was it. Do or die. Maggnak was sympathetic as to why the few skeletons that belonged to the hunters before him lay here; the sheer determination was dripping with his own wounds. He may very well be the next soon-to-be skeleton. There were eight Giants and seven Mammoths at their camp. The Giant without a Mammoth that stood at the humongous firepit was obviously the leader – and the most powerful of this group. Ridding of some Giant Runts and their young Mammoths through a distraction technique by way of the bow, as well as a several adolescent Giants and Mammoths, along with a few adults of either, it all came down to the most inexperienced elder of this Giant Tribe. Maggnak growled back at the enraged colossal figure making its way toward him. The bow would be useless against that robust skin of the Giant. Maggnak fought until his last conscious breath; he had several times attempted to climb the foe and sever its life through the skull but the Giant's hands were quicker than he. At last, after thirty minutes, both were tuckered out and the heavier of the two fell. With that, Maggnak cut off its head. Falling to the forest floor, cushioned by fallen leaves, he laid there for hours. Glimmering in and out of perception. Upon awakening to the carnage and the near midnight hour, he carried himself to the last Stair of Pursuit, where the unknown and possible death awaits him.

* * *

**Section 8 – The Seventh Stair of Pursuit: Touched by the Moon**

It was eerily quiet when Maggnak reached the pinnacle of the Pursuit's Staircase. It was akin to being atop the Throat of the World. One could see the previous Stairs and the massacre below. This last Step was meant to allow the Great Hunter to see all the courage he had brought with him along the way. What was strewn across the valley were the remains of those hunters who did not even so much as navigate walk through these gates. The very fact Maggnak was still standing caused him to wonder why he made it here. Shrugging off 'what ifs', he explored the dome of foliage that fenced him.

The miles and miles of the forest that Moon-Lit Beck flowed through was the perfect romantic spot to watch the sky, were it not for the fact that the beck didn't look like a warzone. The ambience of absolute stillness chilled Maggnak to the bone. Something was watching him. Turning around to the shadows of the Stair's borders, his speculation became fact at the sight of pack sixteen wolf-men. Werewolves that were stronger both individually and as a unit than all the previous prey Maggnak had hunted. The only difference was that these Lycans were not his prey, they were his equal. This was definitely a test of character and skill and this final fight would allow him to pass and gain whatever prize would be given. Maggnak looked into the eyes of every Werewolf and saw the reflection in them of the resolve to live. As they pack went for the kill, seeing how outnumbered he was, the Orc roared mightily, feeling something awakening within him.

He kicked, hit, and fought off every swarming Lycan to the letter but the number was too great. He would not survive if he kept up this charade until passing out. He would require another strategy. The unusual pack before, even though the adult was not an Alpha nor the leader, he avoided killing the important one due to being waylaid. This time, however, that tactic might work to the Orc's advantage. These beings were not merely beasts, they had sentience. Still fending off the others, Maggnak focused his attention on the Alpha. Realizing the motive of Maggnak, the Alpha began to momentarily retreat as the Betas and Omegas became fiercer in their attack. The turned back of the Alpha allowed Maggnak to take a chance at throwing his spear at the retreating leader. With fixated fury, he tossed the weapon with purpose and the spear punctured through the rib cage and the lungs, instantly slaying the Alpha.

The moment the Alpha drew its last breath, the subordinate Lycans stood down. Maggnak, dripping in blood and sweat, overlooked the recoiling canine-men, and marveled.

"Why are they bowing to me?" Maggnak queried to himself.

"Because, Great Hunter, you have challenged your right to be their leader." A figure of light, like the one at the bear's cave, appeared, slowly dimming to what it really was.

"But I was simply- wait, who are you?"

* * *

**Section 9 – Hircine's Kin**

"I am Hircine, Lord of the Hunt and Father of Hounds."

"These are your Werewolves?"

"Yes, my ignorant hunter. Your quest has pleased me."

"What quest?"

"Were you not treading upon my turf to feel the thrill of the hunt?"

"Well, yes but I also wish to please my father…" Maggnak's face became gloomy. "I am considered weak in his eyes."

"Hunting is a noble endeavor, honorable enough to make one wise. You are the first in many centuries to reach the Seventh Stair of Pursuit. For that, I praise you."

"Thank you, but I did not make this journey for the prize."

"Your humility is all the more reason to grant you with a gift." Hircine came close to touch him, thus giving him a gift but Maggnak recoiled in fear.

"But, Lord Hircine, why am I worthy at all?"

"You killed one of my strongest Alpha Hounds, that, mortal, is a feat normally unattainable, especially for the weak of heart. To be standing here is simply proof that you have a heart of a Hunter. I have watched you since you were a child and even at that age, you have reveled in the thrill of the Hunt. Many could learn from your example. You are loyal to your kin and yet your craving to hunt is more strong than in others I have witnessed in eons. I always had hoped I picked the right mortal for something special and it looks like I have. This journey was your trial, my confirmation that you are to be my hand-picked Hound. Your cure of this curse you call weakness is simple. Be one of my Hounds and I promise you will not regret it."

"I…I am unsure how to respond." Maggnak had a million things going through his mind. Like what would Malacath think or his father even?

"Speak not, let the Hunter within speak for you." The Deadric Prince replied.

The Orc sought meaning to his life. He wanted to be more than just a useless piece of walking and talking meat. Maggnak reached inside his soul, clutching to the inner warrior and the words. Moments later, he found clarity.

"I devote my life to you, O Hircine." The Orc bowed, compelled by honor and reverence. Above all else, hunting was his commitment.

"I am honored. For your initiation to commence, you must defeat me in a brief battle – worry not, we shall be of equal strength."

"Yes, master. But my Lord, what am I to do?" Maggnak asked earnestly.

"Nothing, stand still and I will bless you with the gift I was meant to grant you. In defeating me, I will have my absolute validation that you are solemn in your devotion to me. Perhaps then you will also find the strength you seek."

The Prince transformed himself into a Lycan, and scratched the Orc across the chest, leaving three glowing and mystical claw marks. Soon, the Orc's form began to shift like any other Moonborn. And within moments, both the Prince and the Orc were transfigured into Beasts and all at once, the battle of honor commenced. Maggnak couldn't contain the power of his Lord at first, but with as much might as he used in the hunt before this, he defeated Hircine. Despite his confidence in himself, the Lord of the Hunt was satisfied. Maggnak fell to his knees upon reappearing as he was, due to the lack of energy to stand.

"Your valor has served you well this day, Orc. Your efforts and victory deserve more than I originally intentioned on granting you. Along with the blessing of Lycanthropy, I will also give you a piece of insight on how to live as my servant. Heed my words wisely, Hunter. For if you follow my voice, you shall surely be rewarded."

"I live only to serve my superiors, my Lord." Maggnak told Hircine through half-breaths. "What is it you would have me do?"

"Every month three days before the full moon, you shall hunt three hours each of those three days."

"My Lord, do you have instructions of what hours of those days you command me to hunt?" Maggnak interrupted.

"For the three days I have given you, the sun's rule of the day is ideal as these are trial periods to ease into real hunting when the full moon beckons. Normally, your daily one-hour hunts are to feed your routinely mortal hunger, however during this time of days numbered thrice, it is a period of proving yourself to me. The hunting that goes on each day and its victories find my favor, but it is when the moon is nearly lit that I strive to see all my Hounds be successful. Three hours each of the three days is all I command prior to the full moon's call."

"Is there a specific command to my catching of the prey during this trial?"

"The single hour you devote to your mortal hunger is of you own choosing. But you may only eat ten percent of what you catch during the day time hours of the three days – everything else shall be as trophies for yourself come nightfall as a reminder of what you are and whom you serve.

"And what of the full moon's hunt, my Lord?"

"On the day of the full moon, before dusk covers Tamriel, you will be hunting all day long until sunset. If your three day trial has been fruitful and glorious, then this day will be the dawn of the Hunt for you. You shall only eat five percent of what you have hunted on this day when the sun is in the sky; for the rest is to be saved for later on. You will need all of it so be sure that this day in particular is quite fruitful. When sunset is afoot, make haste – go and be with your own kind; a pack of my hounds is where you ought to be, wait there until the moon rises. For when Secunda and Masser cometh, you will be weak to their seductive illumination. Both you and the rest of the pack. The entirety of the dusk hours will be the wondrous hunt of the hounds. And when the light of the sun touches Tamriel once more, you will not recall your works of the night before; both the whelps and the mature. A few might retain their memory but I warn you, memory of such things will haunt your mortal self. No matter where you are, once you have been aware that you have Shifted, for the lack of clothing shall your greatest indication, seek out shelter and rest; you will have earned it. When you have rested a day, you will awake with a great hunger that rivals that of your inner hound's bloodlust. The savored meats from the days prior are your reward for your honor, courage, and perseverance during the full moon. Once you have eaten, the last thing you ought to do is make four sacrificial offerings to me; three small pelts or hides representing the three day trial, and the one large pelt for the full moon."

"Do you have any other commands for me, master?"

"When the moons are dyed red, you are to sacrifice everything you've caught that night they change hue."

"I have heard every word and I vow to fulfill them."

"I expect nothing less. These commands are to you and your offspring; should your mate bear you pups. It is a blessing I am giving you and your kin to whom bear the gift of Lycanthropy – and embrace it. Those who do not shall be cursed with unquenchable hunger and thirst for blood. Raise your pack well, my Hunter."

Before Maggnak could say anything else, the Prince vanished like a mist within the morning air. Maggnak contemplated on the words of his new master and the possibility of a family in the future. Hircine never said 'if' he had a mate but 'when'. Prosperity, among other things, was something Maggnak could only dream of.

Looking to the sky, Maggnak noticed the moon hanging in the sky, indicating the approach of the second day to come. Though the Orc hadn't fully sensed it yet, the scratching of the inner beast had taken over him, automatically hunting until noon without his knowing of it. The visions that awoke him were glimpses of prowling the lands, hunting down whatever had the stench of fear and of bloodsmeared skies. The mortal hauntings now were made clear to Maggnak. Looking about the landscape, the restless Orc would need to travel for an entire day in order to return to his home. Pondering the power he now possessed, Maggnak took his first step on his journey home.


End file.
